


everything is fine in heaven

by scribacchina



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, Credence's POV, Fluff, Frotting, Horny Teenager Shenanigans, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn Watching, PornStar!Graves, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribacchina/pseuds/scribacchina
Summary: The man standing in front of him gives a noncommittal, circumstantial smile. It makes the skin around his lips and eyes wrinkle, but in a handsome, rugged way. Credence almost chokes at the familiarity in those lines.“Good morning,” Guy From That Porn Vid says. “Uh, yeah, can you get me a few assorted cupcakes?”





	1. but i'll never get to know

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhh, this is trash. Also vent. Don't - don't even ask.

Masturbation is the weirdest fucking thing. 

Nowadays, Credence doesn't have to worry every time he gets the urge to rub one out. Living with the Goldsteins, the worst that could happen is he gets an awkward sex ed talk at an age that's far too old for it - sure, Credence would die, but, it would eventually become a fun anecdote. 

A joke. Masturbation is a joke, kind of a gross one, something to laugh about. Not for Ma it wasn't - but that's not the case anymore. Ma is a good three hundred kilometers away from Credence's new home. She is definitively not coming back to get him. She definitively doesn't care about his recreational habits. 

Almost twenty years without release, followed by sudden and unbidden freedom: Credence's body is having a fucking party. He's never eaten as much as he does now, stuffing bite after bite of Queenie's delicious strudel into his cheeks, _like a little squirrel_ , she grins, pinching a dilated cheek. 

Credence takes a sort of quiet, intimate pride in the way his navel is slowly but surely beginning to fill out. 

He sleeps all day long. It doesn't matter how early he goes off to bed, if no one wakes him, Credence will keep on snoring until his brain eventually kicks him up. And then, it's either to eat, or to -- well. 

Tina gifted him a laptop for his birthday, a couple months ago. It took Credence approximately four days to find his way around it, and they've been inseparable ever since. Its soft, whirring noise when Credence switches it on, the scalding hot of its hard drive. Its the closest to owning a pet Credence ever got. 

He started from the basics. Pornhub, and then some random xxx-prefaced site. He'd tried to entertain the idea of straight porn, at first, but it became tacky real quick. Not that gay porn is much better - but at least it gets him off. 

In the quiet of his new, private bedroom, Credence forgets all shame. The loud, obnoxious moaning drives out every word Ma ever spoke to him. Like white noise, but better. 

Today, Credence browses through pages and pages of tags, all of which he'd never dare to repeat out loud. _Creampie_ , _Gangbang_ , _BBC_. The usual stuff. Credence isn't too picky, but the sheer vastity of the content pushes him to dig deeper - _ahah_. His hand stays still, loosely wrapped around the base of his dick. 

His eyes catch onto a thumbnail, skimming over the title. _Young Twink Gets His Ass Pounded!_

Quick to the point, but that's about as original you can get. Credence has seen - and enjoyed - a thousand others with slight variations of that same plot. It's the images on the thumbnail that make this one stick out. Credence's finger rolls over the cursor. 

There's not much preamble, or any acting, thank God. A young, preppy looking kid is sprawled on the bed, slowly pulling down his shorts. Credence’s hand itches. He thinks, with his face turned down, the actor looks something like him. Dark hair, pale, scrawny. 

The second actor comes into scene. Credence tightens his grip, tugs once, twice. _Fuck_ , that's one good looking dude. And not only for porn standards. That's a solid eleven. Broad shoulders, not too muscley - but still impressive. Credence can tell from his face, how it wrinkles at his eyes and a little around his mouth, he's clearly older. Going forty, maybe? Yeah, seems like it. 

He's already naked, cock bobbing in the air. It's a _very_ nice looking cock, Credence thinks, chewing on his lip. His hand begins pumping. 

There's a bit of talk between the two, Credence listens to Him talk, voice low, breathy. Credence shuts his eyes for a second, pretends He’s talking to him. _Are you ready, slut?_

Credence opens his eyes again, to see Him slide two fingers into the boy’s hole. They go in nice and easy, ‘cause that boy is a _slut_ and he's obviously prepared himself before. Credence watches those thick digits disappear, one knuckle after the other, scissoring into Boy until he's basically begging for it. 

When Him bends over Boy’s back, the camera shifts closer, offering a perfect visual of His dick splitting Boy’s ass open. Credence hisses, fastening his pace. He thumbs at the head of his dick and feels it spill precome. 

That must be good, Credence thinks. _So fucking big_ , as Boy puts it, rocking back against Him. Credence's toes curl, while on the screen the two continue fucking. Credence can't get over how handsome He is, just, so fucking amazing. What it'd be like, laying under that. Taking that dick until his ass goes numb. Feeling him come all over his insides. 

The video isn't over yet, but Credence's already tensing, groaning from a sudden orgasm. He grasps for the roll of toilet paper he keeps under the bed and carefully cleans himself. For some reason, he keeps the video running - which is actively violating one of the unspoken rules of porn: once you're done, you _stop watching_. No sober, respectable person can deal with that cringe. 

And yet, Credence can't keep his eyes away. At six minutes and twenty two seconds, He pulls out, and proceeds to jerk himself all over Boy’s chest. _Good slut_ , He says, and that's the last thing Credence ears before finally scrambling to close the tab. 

 

He laps up breakfast like someone is gonna burst into the kitchen at any moment and snatch it away from him. The toast crumbles under his teeth with a satisfying _crunch_ , cheese sliding down his throat together with a big gulp of orange juice. 

“Slow down,” Queenie says, ruffling his hair. They've grown out of the horrid bowl cut Ma forced him to wear, but they're still too short for Credence's liking. He can't wait until they're long enough for Queenie to style them into neat braids or even put them up, in a loose bun. 

“You gonna help us out at the shop, kid?” Jacob has come to pick up Queenie, and consequently sat down for breakfast. Credence nods, one too large mouthful stuck halfway to his stomach. Tina pats him hard on the back, sipping her coffee with a blank, unseeing stare. 

The ‘shop’ is Queenie and Jacob’s - but mostly Jacob’s - backery. They've opened two years ago, and business has been going steady since then. Lots of patrons and a bunch of usuals, some ride from a town over to get a taste of Kowalski’s goods. Grandma never fails, Jacob always says, citing his grandmother’s recipes. As far as Credence knows, only Queenie is allowed to read from them. 

They leave home twenty minutes later, Queenie dressed casually, yoga pants and a big sweater, but it doesn't matter ‘cause she's fucking gorgeous even then. Jacob doesn't have to care about how he dresses - he's dating Queenie, she's plenty for the both of them - but Credence secretly thinks the new cut suits him lots. 

Credence is. _Something_. The jeans don't quite fit him and the shirt falls awkwardly around his torso. He washed his face quickly that morning, avoiding to look in the mirror. His acne is acting out again - came with the new life, the ungodly amount of sweets, hormones jumping all over the place. It's gonna go away, eventually. That's what Queenie says. 

He climbs into Jacob's old Corolla, and listens to his and Queenie's chatters. He lets their quiet conversations lull him to a place of almost sleep, forehead pressed against the window, watching the city run beside them. 

Credence imagines what being totally alone in the universe would feel like, exploring all the places that he can't go, without thinking of how his hair his shirt his face his jeans look. 

The ride isn't long, a few miles from the apartment Tina and Queenie - and Credence, even if he always forgets to count himself in - live together. Jacob inquires about the weather, Queenie's says she's heard it's gonna get rainy soon.

“Makes sense, October’s coming. Halloween season!” Jacob looks into the rear view mirror, “Did ya ever go treat or treating, Cree?” 

Credence re-imagines everyone back in the universe, and himself on the seat of the Corolla. “No,” he says, “Ma usually kept us inside to pray. We didn't do much out the ordinary, really.”

“That's a shame. What do you say you help me bake some cookies? We can shape them like pumpkins, or bats, or whatever you want.” Queenie turns to look at him, and Credence nods weakly, because he's terrible at cooking but Queenie keeps trying to have him practice. He admires the effort, if nothing else. 

Jacob parks in the front, and they make their way inside. It's barely six am, but there's gonna be clients up soon. While Queenie and Jacob clean around the kitchen, Credence hangs behind the counter, observing the shelves and the products on display. 

He's not great at customer service, but he does his best. Most people who visit get the hang of it: if you're mean to Credence you're not welcome anymore, and they at the very least tolerate him. A few of them, Credence is pretty sure actually like him. 

Mostly the old ladies crowd, patient grannies and aunties inquiring after his health and school and, _oh, you don't attend? That's alright, so many different possibilities these days, not like when I was younger_. 

Tina and Queenie both say there's no rush, he doesn't have to go back immediately. It's been almost a full year now, since he's been living with them - and he dropped out when he was sixteen. Ma didn't think it was necessary, _you're too stupid for it anyways_ , and so. 

He's nineteen now. Sometimes, Credence feels so behind he fears soon he's gonna see all the people who surpassed him back then, coming around for the second leap. And he's still there, huffing and puffing, and not moving forward at all, not even a little bit. 

The bell above the entrance door rings, out of tune. Credence stops staring at the macarons, belly gurgling. “Good morning, welcome to Kowalski's Fantastic Bakery. How can I help you?” He says it while turning around, mouth reciting the motto before the rest of him can even catch up with what's happening. 

The man standing in front of him gives a noncommittal, circumstantial smile. It makes the skin around his lips and eyes wrinkle, but in a handsome, rugged way. Credence almost chokes at the familiarity in those lines. 

“Good morning,” _Guy From That Porn Vid_ says. “Uh, yeah, can you get me a few assorted cupcakes?” 

“Sure,” Credence coughs, ignoring the semi rising between his legs. Thank God for chest level desks. “Do you have any preferences?” He says, opening the little door to the cupcakes in exposition. The tongs tremble in his hand, brushing past the icings. 

He is checking his phone. He is wearing a leather jacket, and his hair are slicked back, not like in the video, where they fell all over his beautiful face. He taps at the phone for a second, then looks up. He smiles again, with more effort this time. 

“Give me a little more chocolate than other,” he says, eyes sliding down. “Credence.” Hearing Him speak his own name makes Credence break into a sweat, even if he knows there's a plaque declaring it right in the front of his shirt. Big, bold letters. Can't get it wrong. 

“Alright,” Credence breathes, placing the cupcakes into a medium sized paper plate. “How many?” 

“Mmh. How much would you say is too much for a ten year old?” 

Credence shuffles his feet. He thinks back of that time he'd managed to sneak Modesty into the bakery down the block to their church. He only had five dollars in his pockets, and that bought him a couple of those large chocolate chips cookies they kept in jars. 

“Seven. Around eleven, if they're really excited,” he says, and his voice stumbles as His face lights up. _So_ handsome. Credence feels like a small insect in His presence, almost like he's gonna be stomped to the ground by God himself.

“Perfect. Let's make it eight.” Credence nods, placing five chocolate cupcakes, two caramel ones and a single strawberry flavored onto the plate. No one fucking likes strawberry, Credence thinks, no one you can trust eats strawberry. He wraps the whole thing up, and hands it over. 

“Twelve dollars and fifty cents,” he recites, rounding the total a little. _Just for You_ , Credence thinks, as He reaches into his wallet and leaves the money on the counter. No change. 

“There we go,” He says. “Thanks, mate.” 

“Thank you - ,” Credence says, feeling the bold grow into his throat, as he leaves the sentence open, just a little, just an encouragement. 

“Percival,” He says, “I'm new here. Been wanting to visit for a while, now. Are you open Monday to Saturday?” 

“Yes,” Credence feels himself smile, “Six am to seven pm.” 

“Awesome,” Percival grabs the bag, and takes a few steps back. He's checking his phone again, but he waves at Credence, saying goodbye halfway through the door. It falls shut with a sigh. 

Credence side-paddles to the bathroom, hiding in the second to last stall. It takes him a full ten minutes to go limp, before going back behind the counter. 

 

All throughout the ride home, Credence tells himself, I'm not going to watch it. _I won't watch the video again_. 

At home, with the laptop pressed into his lap, he hopes, please, don't let me find it. But of course he forgot to erase his history, and the link sits right at the top of the list, in pale blue. 

Masturbation is a joke. Credence wishes he had a better sense of humor.


	2. yeah right, yeah right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, holy shit. I didn't expect this half backed stuff to attract so much interest. Thank you all for the kind words, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Nothing majorly filthy happens yet, but. Still. Heed the tags.

Credence's laptop purrs loudly with the effort of over seventy two hours of work. Something went to shit with last night’s storm, and now connection is slow as all fuck.  
The browser keeps loading and loading, bar slowly filling blue, wifi reception at its lowest. 

Credence's eyes skim to the clock. It's currently three in the morning; he’ll have to be up in another three hours, if he wants to follow Queenie and Jacob to the bakery. He can't rely on Tina to wake him up, she barely remembers to set her own alarm. Queenie neither, she'd never purposefully rob him of his _beauty sleep_ , as she puts it. 

But Credence really, _really_ wants to go. Sleep or no sleep.

If the connection wasn't so utter shit, he would already be snoring; thank God, insomnia isn't in his pathology range. Credence is forcing himself to ignore every fiber of his being, burning eyes and throbbing temples. 

He rubs his eyelids in an effort to eliminate the blurriness to the side of his vision. Only makes it worse. 

It has become somewhat of a ritual. Every night since meeting Him in the flesh - _Percival_ , Credence rolls the word on his tongue like a candy, rubs it against his gums until it dissolves. He isn't one to judge on names, _Credence_ , but Percival sounds like such an old, classical one. 

Fascinating. An exceptional title for an exceptional man. Credence nibbles on his thumbnail, thinking, whose parent chose it? Does it refer to some historical figure? A character in an epic narrative?

Every night, before going to sleep, Credence watches the video that started this whole mess. And he masturbates, and then wonders about Percival's name, and makes up entire conversations in his head where He tells Credence about his family and his past and every secret he's ever kept from everyone else but not from Credence ‘cause they just, connect so well, they're like, _perfect for each other --_

Credence bites a knuckle, hard. Fuck, the hours are starting to take their toll. He feels shaky and like he's about to vomit; that's probably gonna result in a massive headache. Normally, he's able to keep the fantasizing to a limit, but this early in the morning, running on no sugar intake? 

The situation is ridiculous. Stuff like this only happens in movies. Real bad ones, too.

Point is: if something this crazy happened in real life, Credence believes - no, _knows_ it must mean one thing and one thing only. 

He is destined to fuck that man. 

Why else would life throw Percival at Credence's face, all salt and pepper hair and stubble and leather jacket and chocolate cupcakes. It must be that, everything in life happens for a reason, everyone has a purpose. Credence's is to get his ass plunged by Porn Vid Guy.

Credence checks the time, again. Ten minutes past three. If he focuses on the last two digits on the display, Credence can almost pretend it's still a civil time to be awake. It's just then minutes, he's got everything under control. 

He needs to remember to ask Queenie to borrow her foundation. He needs to cover the massive, angry red zits that have blossomed on his cheek. He pokes at them with a finger, and feels the ridges and falls of his skin, how it burns. He can't let Percival see them. 

And to remember, he needs to get some fucking sleep. His brain is working against itself, and that's fucked up. Credence almost dislocates his jaw while yawning. 

That cuts it. Credence shuts the laptop and slides it onto his nightstand to charge, turning his back to it. He sinks his head into the pillow, fully intentioned to fall asleep in five minutes top. Credence's nostrils stick to the freshly washed fabric. 

Unable to watch the real thing, Credence starts to replay shots of the video inside his mind. They are warped, become more distorted as his consciousness slips out of reach. 

Credence dreams Percival's hands pushing him down, onto a massive mattress. Credence is not looking at the scene from his computer, he is part of it. There are cameras hovering in the air around them, Credence doesn't see them, but they're there. 

Percival stares down at Credence, suddenly much taller and larger, a giant. He kisses Credence and it feels like drowning, like when Ma was so mad at him he pushed his face down the toilet drain - this feels nice though, a nice kind of drowning.

 _“Slut,”_ He says, with the same tone He used to ask for cupcakes. Credence feels himself becoming wet, like a girl, or maybe it's just the sweat. It's so hot in here, Credence thinks, says, ripping away his pajamas. 

Credence feels everything around him close in, the pressure builds inside his lungs. Percival towers up to the ceiling, an unstoppable force against an immovable object. Credence realizes He's the only thing keeping the walls from crushing them, and the thought thumbles from brain to chest to stomach, settles there with a comfortable warmth. 

_“It's okay, it won't hurt,”_ Percival says. Credence imagines that's the sort of thing you say to someone the first time you fuck them. To reassure them. Credence has a very, very limited sexual experience - but he’s got a wild imagination, and a lot of time to himself. 

So, Credence's mind works out what it imagines being fucked feels like. A phantom pleasure all over his body, Percival pushes inside and Credence closes his eyes at the feeling. The feeling. What's it like? Is he full? Is it like having to go to the bathroom? 

Credence is hard, and the lucidity of the dream doesn't deter him. Who cares how it's supposed to feel like. It's good, everyone says it's good. Hard and hot and good. Yeah, that's - _that's it_. 

He wakes up two hours and forty five minutes later, with a large wet patch staining the front of his boxers. While he climbs out of bed, Credence hears Jacob's Corolla pulling up the driveway.

 

Percival comes by every Thursday, usually in the morning when the bakery first opens.  
Credence makes an effort to be on shift each Thursday morning, and eventually, Queenie catches on. 

“So, new client, uh?” Credence rubs at his face, that's already warm and red at the sole mention of Him. Queenie bumps their hips together. 

“Don't tell, please,” he begs. Last time he had a crush, Tina went on a crusade to find out anything she could about the poor bastard. And it hadn't even been a crush - not of this proportion - Credence had just made, like, a passing comment. 

How nice his hair looked, all ruffled, a light shade of red that made Credence think of orange peel. Newt still visits, but he's grown a little more defensive, especially when the _Tinasaurus Rex_ is around. Newt is quite pretty, but Credence likes them a little rougher around the edges. Then again, he does fantasizes about every man he meets, at least once. Curiosity, for the most part.

Queenie winks, “Dontcha worry, honey. It'll be our secret,” she smiles, tapping Credence's nose with one perfectly manicured finger. She trots back into the kitchen, and Credence follows the tip-tap of her heels even after she's disappeared from sight. 

He checks his phone, swiping left and right, entertaining the idea of starting a new _CandyCrush_ match. It's been ages since he'd last played, but anything would be better than waiting in silence for Percival to finally show up. 

It's half past eight. It's Thursday, and Kowalski's Fantastic Bakery has been open for a good two hours. Real people, with real lives, sometimes experience inconveniences - Credence reminds himself. Not everyone gets to live off of others. Credence's self worth is almost as low as his sex drive is high. He taps a foot to the beat of the song playing from Jacob’s radio.

_“ Cause passion, is passion // You know it just as well as me -- “_

The bell chirps as Percival pushes the door open. He is wearing - oh, _Good Lord_ , are those _yoga pants?_ Fucking Christ. 

Credence can't help his lips from curling, “Good Morning,” he chimes, trying to imitate Queenie's voice. Percival nods, raising one hand. So casual, and yet. Credence thinks, that's the privilege of beautiful people; you get to be lazy sometimes, and still look amazing. 

Percival leans on the counter, close enough for Credence to count the drops of sweat budding on his forehead. _One, two, three, four, five --_

“This weather is shit,” Percival says, wiping his cupid bow. Credence glances at the grey tee He's wearing: there's barely a few dry spots. The man is _drenched_. Does he go to the gym? 

“Ah, yeah. Global warming skeptics must be having a hard time proving their point,” Credence says, pointing at the street sign outside the window. The blue paint has melted off, running down its pole, and the metal is bent like someone hit it with a hammer. 

Percival chuckles, “They should really fix that. The sign I mean. _And_ global warming.” 

“Better start with the smaller issues. Global warming would be easier to begin with.” Percival looks at him, waiting for the punchline. “What? Have you seen the regulation on roadwork in this place? With any luck, fifty years from now they'll have made _plans_ to fix the gaping crater in the middle of the street.” 

Percival barks out a laugh, brief but intense. Credence feels himself growing ten inches taller, out of sheer joy. 

“Ah, damn, are there no more cupcakes?” Percival looks down, scanning through the rows of sweet. “Malcolm loved them. Made me promise to buy him a whole box.” He shrugs apologetically, like He’s the one doing wrong. 

Credence scrambles, “We are restocking right now, but, we’ll have a new batch ready by this afternoon,” he says, leaning over the desk. “I can deliver the box to you. If you want me to, that is.” 

“That'd be … really convenient, actually. Malcolm will be home by seven tonight, so, yeah, could you pass by at five, even six?” Percival's back to checking his phone, tapping faster now. Texting someone? 

“Absolutely, yes, er. Your address?” 

It's kind of a bold question, but a necessary one. Percival hums, “I can text it to you. It's not very far from here.” 

Credence is about to die. Right now. Percival's phone number, then His address. Before he can let out any ambiguous sounds, Credence says, “Yes, sure, I - I have my phone right here.” 

Where the fuck else would his phone be? Credence mentally kicks himself. His brain is already going apeshit. He's seen the man naked, but somehow that seems to pale in comparison. Percival's going to tell Credence where He _lives_. 

Or, well, he'll text it to him. Same thing. 

They exchange numbers in a flurry of _excuse mes_ and _could you repeat that?_ and _chocolate, caramel, strawberry, right?_ That Credence can't quite put together afterwards, when Percival walks out. 

Queenie peeks at him from behind the kitchen door, “I guess I'll work after hours if it means you can go meet your sweetheart.” She laughs, but Credence grimaces; he hadn't even checked if they'd planned on making more cupcakes today. 

“Oh, don't give me that look. I don't mind!” Queenie grins, tilting her head. “But if you really are that guilty, well. I could use a couple more hands.” 

For the first time, Credence steps into the kitchen with something that isn't total despair. 

 

Credence stares at the house he's parked in front of. According to the text, that's Percival's. Credence checks their chat again, wondering if maybe he's got the wrong block - nope. That's, that's it. 

“Holy shit.” The place isn't by any means a villa, but still. It's bigger than any house Credence has ever seen, let alone _been_ in. It has a _garden in the back. What_.

Credence climbs out of Jacob’s Corolla. He had mercifully lent it to him, with a promise to be extra careful. Credence is still studying to get a license, and he technically isn't allowed behind a steering wheel. 

Then again - every cop in town is also a very affectionate client of Kowalski's. They'd know better than to bother Queenie's little bro. All those free donuts samples could be going any minute. 

Sometimes Credence isn't sure if Jacob and Queenie's business is entirely legal. 

He trots up to the door, and pushes the doorbell. He wrote to Percival before leaving the car, _“I'm here,”_ but he hasn't read it. Probably busy with work, or something. The implications of that make Credence's face go up in flames. 

He ends up waiting for six and a half minutes before steps approach from the other side and the door opens. Credence shifts the box of cupcakes from his hip to his front, packing his phone away. “Hi, here you go."

Looking up, Credence has five heart attacks in a row. 

Skin. Endless planes of naked skin. All those muscles twitching at once, without any clothes to hide them. Only a small, plain white towel to fend off Percival's privates from Credence's stare. 

“Sorry, I didn't hear the phone, I was showering,” Percival says. His hair is damp, and there's droplets falling on his shoulders. Credence must be taking too long to process the situation as any normal human being would, because Percival’s expressions grows knowing. Before he can embarrass himself further, Credence throws the box of cupcakes at him. 

“Thank you for buying at Kowalski's, we hope you enjoy the treat and come see us again soon! Bye!” He recites the slogan while practically running back to the car. 

“Bye,” Percival says. Credence looks at him in the rear view mirror after he's started the engine. He is still standing in the entrance. He is still smiling. 

 

He forgets the money. He forgets how to park the Corolla, sloppily slides into the garage. He forgets to call Queenie and forgets to say hi to Tina. She yells after him if everything's alright and he says, yeah. 

Closing the door to his room, Credence finally feels the shame bubbling away. Something else replaces it, aching and insistent.  
He stumbles to the window, stepping over his own clothes, and shuts the blinds. The air is warm, and he's already sweating buckets - from the sun or from Percival's look, he's not sure. 

Flings himself on the bed, quickly discarding shirt and jeans. His skin is prickly and itchy and hot and his guts all twisted. Credence stretches towards the laptop, and drags it onto his chest. 

He'd forgotten to erase the tabs last night, and when he opens them, the video has loaded. The small, white, play button reminds him of Percival's towel. Credence starts it, plugging in the headphones just in time. 

Credence curls into himself, feet kicking up. He's hard, palming at his erection through his boxers. Credence digs the heel of his palm down, and strains to cut off his voice. He wants it _so bad_. 

Out there, Credence has to rationalize every thought. Assign a logic to each action. But in here, inside, he doesn't have to pretend. 

Here, Credence could imagine the way Percival had smiled at him meant _something_. Credence could imagine what'd have happened if Percival had invited him in. Told him to put the box over there, on the counter, and come sit on the couch. 

If Percival had sat down, too, towel barely covering what it needed to, and said that he'd wanted to meet him in private since they'd first talked. And Credence would've admitted, yes, me too. Credence would have confessed, that he'd masturbated to his porn multiple times. That he dreamed of letting Percival fuck him, and come inside him, even if he wasn't really sure how it all worked. 

And Percival would've bent him over the armrest, and _spanked his ass raw_

 

Credence bites his tongue as he comes, without touching himself once. He doesn't even watch the video, too far gone. 

He closes the tab. Opens a new one. With shaky fingers, Credence types _Percival Graves pornstar_ into the search bar, and settles down for the evening.


	3. washing machine heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is veeeery badly edited lol. I might re check it in the morning, but for the time being, have it.

“So,” Tina chews on a mouthful of Cheerios, “Queenie told me you got a new boyfriend.”

Credence chokes on his slice of coconut cake, and simultaneously almost falls off the chair.

“No I _didn't_! It was Jacob,” Queenie says, handing Credence a glass of warm milk. He gulps it all down, glaring at a visibly embarrassed Jacob, who's shrunk into his seat at the other end of the table.

“She left me no choice. Sorry, kid.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” Credence croaks, “He's nowhere near my league.”

Tina hums, probably debating which to address first; the self deprecating comment, or the next threat to Credence's integrity? If Credence had any courage at all, he'd tell her he's thrown decency out the window a long time ago.

“Tina, leave Credence alone. He's just having a bit of fun,” Queenie takes the now empty glass from Credence's hand, bumping it lightly against his head, “And you. Stop that. You are one sexy beast.”

“I was just saying, there's nothing between us. I just think he's attractive, is all.” Credence mutters, stuffing another piece of cake inside his mouth.

Jacob scratches his chin, “I mean, you're not wrong. Guy looks _good_ ,” he says. Queenie props both hands on her hips, mouth quirking up to the side. “Don't worry love, we can share him if ya want!” Jacob laughs.

“And rob Credence of such an opportunity? Absolutely not.”

Credence smiles. Tina is still watching him, somewhat unconvinced. The white neon lights makes her eyes shift from brown to hazel. “Alright,” she sighs, dumping the spoon and the bowl into the sink. “I'll leave you to it then. Have a nice day at work.

She pats Credence's head and walks right back to her bedroom. Credence manages to catch a twitch of worry on Queenie's face, but it doesn't last for long.

“C’mon then! I'm sure your beau will be hungry for more of those cupcakes.”

 

Generally speaking, Wikipedia is a hellhole of misguided informations and trolls, which shouldn't be trusted as a source. It is quick though, and Credence wants this research to be as fast as possible.

Once the results come up, Credence finds a bunch of links redirecting him to porn sites, and, lonely at the top of the page, Percival Graves’ very own Wikipedia article. It's pretty short, granted. It lists age, - he's a whooping forty one - place of birth, - New York City, where Credence lived for nearly eighteen miserable, _miserable_ years of his life - and all of his … _filmography_.

Took part in 372 movies, won ten AVN Awards - because yeah, apparently those exists. _Holy shit_.

The article doesn't delve much into Percival's personal life, but Credence feels like he's snooped around enough already. There's an uncomfortable weight inside his chest, which Credence recognizes as guilt.

He wonders briefly how many naked people Percival must've seen. Credence's seen plenty in video format, but in real life, last Thursday was the closest he's ever got.

Only time before that was an unfortunate evening with the neighbor’s son - Jack, or John, Credence doesn't remember. What he does remember is Ma’s face when she'd caught them half naked in the bathroom. But they'd been kids then, with no impulse whatsoever. Yeah, well, go explain _that_ to Mary Lou Barebone.

Credence shudders at the memory. He shuts the laptop, not before having cleared all tabs _and_ search history. For some reason he can't shake the feeling that what he's done is some sort of privacy violation; Credence has had a grand total of four, maybe five chats with Percival, that doesn't give him any reason to be so concerned with the man.

Plus, if it's online, Percival probably doesn't mind people reading it.

Come to think of it, there must be a lot online about him that Percival doesn't mind people looking at.

 

Next week wobbles forth slowly. Credence can't stand the pacing of time, wishing Monday away with every tick of the clock. Isn't love supposed to make everything glow and shine? When Credence woke up this morning it was raining, fog so thick Jacob had to drive at thirty miles per hour.

Not that he'd call this love. It's hardly a crush, really. Credence pushes down a surge of warm that rises and clings to his cheeks. He squashes his face against the cold surface of the counter and hopes for the relief of death. The bell rings, and Credence reluctantly pulls himself together.

“Welcome to Kowalski's Baked Goods, how can I assist you on this fine day?”

“ _Fine_ day? It's raining bullets.” Percival gasps, quickly shutting the door behind himself. He leaves a small trail of water as he approaches, leather jacket soaked and hair dusted with millions of tiny drops.

“Oh, yeah,” Credence stutters, averting his eyes to the window, “It does seem pretty bad.”

“It's decided to be Autumn all of a sudden, after four months of _hell_ ,” Percival is rummaging through his pockets, glancing up every few seconds. Credence keeps on watching him from the corner of his vision. “Ah, there they are.”

Percival slides a few bills across the desk. “Keep the change,” he says, looking directly at Credence's face. “For the disturb.”

“There's no need. No disturb, I mean.” Credence’s chin drops against his collarbones. The money rests in front of his folded hands, a little wrinkled.

“Then consider it a tip,” Percival insists, taking a few steps back when Credence tries to hand him back the spare money. The assorted cupcakes cost fifteen dollars, Percival gave him thirty. That's a good fucking tip. Is Percival apologizing for their awkward run in?

“Did Malcolm enjoy the cupcakes?” Credence asks, avoiding thinking of the latter lest he self combusts.

Percival nods enthusiastically, “Oh, he loved them. Said he'll start coming over every week if I buy a box each time he's around.” He scratches his cheek, where a shadow of stubble grows.

“He’ll make you go bankrupt over some sweets?” Credence says, biting his lip not to grin.

“Well, yeah, probably. You know how kids are.” _Oof_. Credence isn't so dumb that he didn't have an half baked idea of Malcolm's true identity, but still. _Step off_ , Credence thinks, mentally kicking his own ass.

“What's this?” Credence jumps back into himself, blinking up at Percival. He is holding a flier, shiny black with big, orange colored letters on the front and back.

“Oh,” Credence shuffles closer to the counter. “We - _Kowalski's_ throwing an Halloween Special. We’ll stay open all night on the thirty first, and offer a discount on all products. Come take a peak in, if you're around.”

Percival snorts, fanning himself with the paper, “I'm a little too old for trick or treating but, sure. I'll come.”

Credence nods, rolls back on the balls of his feet. For a moment, they just stare at each other, a silent wave settling in the space between them. “Er, can I help you with something else?” Credence asks, grabbing the tongs.

“Ah, no, I just passed in to pay. I gotta go, actually.” Percival casually pockets the pamphlet, sliding it into the back of his jeans. “See you, Credence,” he says, holding the door open.

“Bye, have a nice day,” Credence manages a small, heartfelt smile, while Percival walks out into the streets. The wind has picked up, and it ruffles his neatly styled hair. “Queenie!” He yells, without taking his eyes off Percival's back, “Who's in turn for Halloween night?”

“Sorry, love, didn't hear ya,” Queenie howls back. Credence cringes at the screech of the oven’s hinges as she wrestles with it. With a sigh, and Percival now completely out of sight, Credence walks into the kitchen.

She's just done with a new tray of butter cookies. Credence picks one off the corner and throws it into his mouth before Queenie can scold him. “That's too hot, silly,” she says.

Credence shrugs, licking crumbs from the corners of his lips. “It's amazing,” Credence says, sucking on his fingers. “I wanted to ask you, if you needed help for Halloween night.”

Queenie slides one hand out of her glove and wipes at her forehead, “I don't know, Cree. Jacob and I were thinking, maybe you should skip that one.”

Credence's stomach drops to his feet. He frowns, gulping down the last of the cookie, “But why?” Credence starts pulling at the hem of his shirt, mind racing, “Did I do something? I swear I'll be super careful not to mess up any orders.”

“It's not that,” Jacob says coming in through the backdoor, “You've been awesome.” He bends to place a big box by the fridge.

“It's just, you know, this is the first time we do this and. Well, we don't know what might happen. There's a lot of stupid assholes going around.”

“We just would feel a lot better if you stayed home with Tina. It'd be safer, you know?”

Credence shakes his head no. He feels a sting to his eyes, “It's fine, I can help. I don't care about assholes. _Please_?” Credence’s full on whining now, but he really can't help it. He pushes his lower lip out. “I just wanna help.”

Queenie and Jacob share a helpless look. “Alright,” Jacob concedes, “But you promise if you think someone's messing with you, you won't hesitate to say something, okay?” The last half of the sentence comes out muffled into Credence's shoulder, as he rushes to hug Jacob.

“Thank you,” Credence beams, cheeks hurting from how wide his smile is. Jacob, a bit winded and not used to Credence starting random acts of affection, reaches to boop Credence's nose.

“No need to thank, kid.”

The ring of the doorbell tears Credence from the moment. He walks out of the kitchen with sunshine radiating off of him, feet floating a good five inches above ground.

 

“If you wanna host, you'll need a proper costume,” Queenie says, wrapping the measuring meter around his waist. “ _Oh_! Honey, I think you've gained a pound.”

“Can't you at least tell me what you're dressing me up as?” Credence asks, standing in the middle of the living room with his arms spread out and his back straight. Instead of answering, Queenie pushes a large piece of black fabric over his head. Once Credence manages to disentangle his hair, he gets a good look at it. It's a pointy hat, fabric velvety and shiny. There's an orange band attached to its base, with a small, glittered bat plastered to it.

“A witch,” Tina stares from her place on the couch. “Cool.”

“It'll be more cool once the top is finished. Credence try these on!” Credence takes the skinny jeans she hands with some hesitance. He tries to school his features back into place, but Queenie is too quick.

“What's wrong, Cree? If you don't like it we can always switch it up. You and Tina have almost the same measures anyways.”

“It's not that,” Credence shrugs, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. It's good quality, no doubt, if a bit old. It's not the look that Credence worries about; or rather, it is, but in a different way than what Queenie might expect. “Are you sure this is okay?” Credence asks, waving a hand at himself.

Queenie's already painted his nails a deep shade of mauve, rich and expensive looking. This, with the pants, the hat and that v neck purple shirt - it's a bit much. “Won't the clients complain? About me?”

Credence knows this is the kind of shenanigans that'd have sent his Ma over the roof with rage. The subject of Credence's sexuality is kind of an undisclosed matter, one which isn't discussed with any particular scrutiny. Here with the Goldsteins, at least. It hadn't been quite that simple back at the church. Credence can't help but feel anxious.

“Oh, baby,” Queenie says, pulling him into a hug. From the other side of the room, Tina scoffs.

“If anyone's got a problem they can come talk to me, or Jake. You don't gotta worry about it.” Her tone makes Credence's heart ache with fondness.

The process of leaving Mary Lou's house had been fairly quick once she realized none of her preaching would have successfully driven the gay out of him. The beatings only got to him to a point: he'd mastered the art of letting his consciousness slip from his body, until he could wince at himself from afar as Ma broke a walking cane over his back.

Credence looks around. Tina's watching Queer Eye. He lives with an unmarried couple who he knows have sex on the daily ( they're not even subtle about it.) He can eat, watch and do practically whatever he wants. This couldn't be more different from the Church - this is better than anything he'd dreamed of, back at Ma’s.

He tries the pants on. “Dude,” Jacob says, peeking in from Queenie's bedroom, “You look _great_.”

 

“Here,” Credence gives Christie Walker a little bag full of homemade candies. She, dressed as an incredibly realistic zombie, snatches them out of his hand with an overjoyed shriek. Her mother gives the money to Queenie with an apologetic frown.

“Whew,” Queenie sighs, adjusting her own witch hat.

“And it's not even ten,” Credence comments, watching the groups of children and parents walking through the streets. One mummy boy knocks on the door to the McKellen's house, waving his pumpkin shaped bucket high over his head.

There's a part of Credence that picks on these moments with a twinge of envy. Two brothers chasing each other, laughing at the top of their lungs. An affectionate father picks up his kid to let him touch the decorations on a tree. There's a part of him that wishes he could've lived any of those children's lives, instead of his own.

Every once in a while, Credence fantasizes how different his life would've been if he'd not been adopted by Mary Lou Barebone.

Queenie's sharp elbow to the ribs drives him out of his thoughts. “Hello! Percival, was it?” Queenie says, hurrying to greet him. Credence nods at Percival, who waves back.

“You came,” Credence states, matter of fact. Queenie’s grin widens an inch, while she slips back into the kitchen. Percival scratches the back of his neck. He is wearing his usual leather jacket, and his hair have been carefully slicked back. Just like the first time Credence saw him in real life. There's a rivulet of fake blood to each corner of his lips.

 _Ohh, Vampire Percival,_ Credence's mind usefully provides. _Now that's a well full of wishes_.

“Yeah, well. Longs story short I am invited to a party,” Percival says, placing both hands on the counter, “One I didn't know existed until, oh, let's say twenty minutes ago?”

“That's … _Good_?” Credence tries, tilting his head. There's a few other costumers in line but they seem busy inspecting the products on the shelves.

“Heh, it's something. Friends from work, you know, let's see how it goes.” Credence forces himself not to react. Percival might not mean _that_ line of work. Or maybe he does. Maybe there'll be a new, favorite video up in Credence's cache, very soon.

“They've sent me to stock up. So, uh, what do you have for me?”

 

Once they're done boxing all the pastries and cookies, plus one Sacher Torte, Percival can barely grasp at the second to last bag. It's too tempting, Credence jumps from behind the desk and takes the bag before Percival can even ask. “Queenie, I'm going for a moment,” he says.

Queenie is serving the Rogers twins, but manages to distract them long enough to make an affirmative gesture in his general direction.

Walking out of the shop, a gust of wind almost tips the hat off of Credence's head. “Careful, little witch,” Percival says, dragging two packages per arm. Credence pushes the hat further on his head, mostly hoping to hide his blush. Percival's car is not too far, thankfully. Percival somehow opens the trunk, throwing the bulk of the things to the back. 

Credence drops the package as nicely as he can. He startles when Percival shuffles past him and their sides collide, “Oof, sorry,” he says, shutting the car.

“Nothing,” Credence stammers, though he's jumped back a good meter. He pretends to be busy with his hat, while Percival looks for his keys. Credence stares at the lights on the porch of Mss Aberport’s house, how their bright orange sticks out from the bleakness of everything else around it.

“Thank you,” Percival says, and Credence turns his head so fast he gets whiplash. He shrugs, palming at his sore neck.

Percival is rubbing at his chin, eyes rolling to the left. The fake blood painted on the side of his mouth smudges.

“I hope the party is fun,” Credence murmurs, imagining his own fingers scrubbing the red away.

“Oh, yeah, sure. The party.” Percival seems lost in his thoughts. Probably something important. _Stop being a leech and let the poor man go,_  Credence thinks, already stepping back.

“Hey,” Percival reaches to take hold of Credence's shoulder. Credence inhales sharply, all of his attention now focused on the point where Percival's palm radiates warmth against his skin. Percival looks at Credence with the same, knowing eyes he had that Thursday.

It feels like he should be saying something, so Credence echoes, “Hey.”

“God,” Percival chuckles, “You are _adorable_.”

Credence sees him leaning closer, and closer, until he can feel the ghost of Percival's breath against the tip of his nose. Percival's other hand comes up to Credence's other shoulder, and now he's being embraced. The press of Percival's lips is such a natural conclusion to the whole scene, Credence almost doesn't register it.

He gasps into the kiss, and Percival takes the chance to flick the tip of his tongue against Credence's. 

 

Credence's legs give out. He clings to Percival's neck like it's the only thing keeping him from sinking into the earth. It must have lasted less than a minute, but when they part Credence's breath is labored and he feels a thousand years older. While it was by far the chastest kiss Credence has ever experienced - and also the first - there's a heavy, persistent heat to his whole face.

“There you go,” Percival says, slowly but surely letting go of Credence. The loss of Percival's touch isn't enough to make the warm dissipate, but Credence does have to repress a discontented whine.

Credence stands there, considering. “Thank you?” He says, pulling at the hem of the shirt. Percival snickers, looking down to the concrete. Credence has no idea what you say in these kind of situations.

“Yeah, no, thank you.” Percival shoots him one last smile before hopping into his Range Rover. Credence steps away while Percival puts the car in reverse. After, he rolls the window all the way down, “Have a good night, Credence,” he says.

In the span of time in which Credence realizes he's supposed to reply and his actual reaction, Percival's already pulled out of the parking lot and sped down the road.

Credence wipes a thumb against his lower lip, still wet. There's red on his fingertip and a strange taste to his mouth. “Fuck,” Credence utters, staring in the direction Percival went.

“ _Holy fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a massive thank you to y'all who took interest in this mess. I promise it'll get steamy pretty soon.


	4. are you that blue light?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the wait, unfortunately school has kept me awfully busy. Some warnings: this is definitively the most explicit chapter so far. As there are some smexy times ahead, I would like to point out that in this story, Credence is 19 - and very much consenting.   
> Thanks for sticking with this fic! I hope you like this chapter, and you decide to let me know (by commenting :3)

Credence could swear his right hand has gone numb. He’s on his seventeenth watch, and tenth consecutive orgasm in an embarrassingly short timeframe. He is working on the agonizing eleventh, when he finally peeks in the cache of favorites. 

Percival's video loads up without a hitch. The small talk at the beginning has gotten into a familiar pattern, to the point Credence can mutter alongside it. _Ready, slut?_

It's been a full three weeks since the Halloween Party. Jacob and Queenie have taken the pumpkins and paper-bat decor down, and there's a box filled with Christmas shit that's ready to puke its festive insides out at the very dawn of December the first. 

“We don't even do Christmas?” Tina had wondered, waving a small Santa statuette above her head. “This is cultural appropriation. Shame, shame.” 

“No, but the rest of town does. And besides, it's not like we're gonna use them for our place,” Queenie said, yanking poor Santa out of her sister’s grip. “What do you say, Credence? We could put up a tree if you wanted.” 

Credence, whose Christmases had been a series of bleak and empty nights at the Church, kneeling onto the steps for hours on end, had decided he didn't really care for Holidays anymore. “I don't mind,” he'd said. “Do whatever you did before I came here.” 

There is something else on Credence's mind. Something that goes beyond religious debacles. 

Milking the last of his eleventh, bordering on painful, almost dry, Credence relives what happened on that night. The longer time stretches, Credence knows, the more his imagination distorts and plays with the memory.

Still, the facts are undeniable. Percival kissed him. Award Winner Pornstar Percival Graves, hottest man Credence has ever met - kissed him, right before speeding away to some kind of event. 

And Credence hasn't seen him since. 

Credence cleans himself, hissing and puffing. His dick feels like it’s about to fall off, but he continues to float in a state of vague arousal. 

He turns onto his side, bringing the laptop with him. It whirs pitifully, like a beaten dog. Credence closes all tabs, erases search history. He can't help but imagine kissing the head of Percival's cock the way he'd kissed his lips. 

Would Percival let him? Credence isn't an expert, but he likes to think he's successfully read through Percival's surface and discovered a secret, corresponded love. 

It's dumb, and delusional. But Credence likes it. It's better than being scared every time he has to leave the bedroom, shying from human interactions that don't involve the selected circle of people that surround him. 

Does Percival masturbate thinking of him? Credence finds it unlikely, but the image is appealing. He groans, humps the air. Credence reaches for a pillow and shoves it between his legs, against his crotch. When he closes his eyes, the pillows takes the form of Percival's face. 

Percival probably doesn't realize the extent of the reaction he's caused. Percival’s face-pillow hugs Credence’s limp dick, but even the pressure of its soft fabric is too much. 

Credence turns on his back. He's panting now, frustrated and helpless. This is ridiculous. 

Credence takes index and middle finger into his mouth, checking for the door with an half opened eye. Tina's locked in her own room, and the two lovebirds have gone out for groceries. It's good timing. 

He conjures up enough saliva, so that his digits are coated. The taste of his own skin sits in the back of Credence's tongue, as he shimmies out of his boxers. 

With his last modicum of decency, Credence drags a blanket over himself. If someone were to walk in on him, the shape of his spread legs poking from under the covers wouldn't fool them. 

He first awkwardly prods at his hole, testing the muscles. It's furled tight, probably because of Credence's own nerves. Forcing himself to relax, Credence pushes inside, slow. One knuckle at a time, until a whole finger sits snug in his ass. 

He wiggles it around, but it doesn't really feel like anything. It's actually pretty bad. Definitely not the revelation he was expecting. 

Maybe he's just hungry. Credence pulls up his pants and skitters out of his little alcove. Slithering into the corridor, with the lights low - it's late evening, and he hears Jacob pulling up in the driveway. Listens to him and Queenie bantering affectionately, while he drops a generous dollop of soap onto both of his palms. 

It's gonna take awhile to make it all clean. He's not thinking of his hands anymore. 

 

The sick feeling only gets worse. It warps into a vicious nausea that accompanies him every waking moment of the day. After nearly a month, remembering the kiss doesn't make Credence as content. It doesn't make him anything. 

_He probably did it to get you off his back. Why do you always get attached?_

_It’s not normal._

_You're not normal._

“Honey,” Queenie says, caressing a cheek. “I can hear you thinking from all the way over here. And I'm willing to bet it's not about good stuff, either.” She says it with such a caring voice, but it hits like a punch. Credence shakes his head, but his vision starts to cloud. 

“Oh, no. Sweetie, what is it? Oh, c’mere.” Credence all but slobbers on Queenie's shoulder, ruining her pretty camisole. She pats his head, cradling him like a baby, holding him for what seems like hours. When the tears stop, and Credence finally breathes without hiccuping, she lets him go. 

“What if I took the counter, and you stayed with Jake in the back, just for a couple days. Would that be better?” 

“Okay,” Credence sniffles, rubbing his nose. “Can you show me how to use the mixer?” 

 

Things proceed quietly. At home, Credence gets a lot closer to Tina; he hadn't realized just how little they've talked in the last few months. He apologizes, but she just waves him off. 

“You're young, and you've got a lot on your mind. Don't worry about me,” she says. They are sprawled on the two ends of the couch, ankles brushing. Tina takes one long, considering look at him. 

“It's alright to say, if you're not feeling good.” 

Credence hums, “But I have no real reason for it. Nothing bad even happened,” he says. And it is true. He's just very, very horny. And sad. He should be thankful for all the things he can afford nowadays; back at the Church, he couldn't let himself be sad. Ma picked up on it like a bloodhound. 

“That's the thing, you don't have to have a reason.” Tina hops off the couch, walks out of the living room. She comes back with two bottles of water. “Sometimes, our brains just like to fuck with us. In that case, what you do is say, no, brain, fuck _you_.” 

She throws one bottle at him and Credence miraculously manages not to drop it. 

“-- and drink water. Lots of it. Bottoms up!” 

 

Credence is crouched in front of the oven. There's something therapeutic to observing the cakes bake. He sometimes wishes he could be small enough to climb inside and fall asleep on the flavory surface. 

Then he'd also be cooked to death, but. Details. 

“Okay, let's see if I got this right,” Queenie chirps from the front. “Five chocolate cupcakes, two caramels and one strawberry, correct?” 

Credence tiptoes to the entrance, balancing against the frame. “Awsome! We’ll have them delivered this afternoon. Have a nice day.” She slouches out of her customer pleasing voice, turns around, and almost jumps on the desk. 

“Oh, Credence. Honey, don't sneak up on me like that, you almost gave me a heart attack.” 

“It's Mr Graves, isn't it?” Credence says, eyes wandering somewhere over Queenie's head. “I can take the order to him, if you'd like.” 

Queenie sighs, propping herself against the wall. “Only if you feel comfortable enough, hon. I wouldn't wanna saddle you with something that's a bit too stressing.” She tucks a wild strand of Credence's hair behind his ear. “Your hair is growing.” 

“It's ok, I'm feeling better now,” Credence says. It's not a complete lie, since he has been somewhat productive, instead of wasting away in bed. Small steps, Tina says. Though, the one he is about to take might be much bigger than his previouses.

She levels him, arms crossing. “Alright. But let me know anytime if you don't feel up to it, okay?” 

He nods. A couple walks in, and Queenie diverts her attention to them. She squeezes his wrist one last time as he slinks away. 

Credence goes back to staring at the cake. It's almost time to take it out, now. But not yet. Not just yet. 

 

Credence parks in front of Percival's house. It's a miracle how there's always enough space, Credence wonders, a tad regretful. He could've used a walk, to clear out his thoughts on what to do. 

Now, pressing the doorbell with the hand that's not balancing a bunch of sweets, Credence considers the pros and cons of just leaving the thing on the welcome mat and running away. Queenie said he could call anytime, so.

Percival opens the door, thankfully clothed. He blinks at Credence for a moment, before gesturing towards the phone he's got pressed to his ear. “Yeah, Sera, I've checked. We agreed on today.” 

Credence hurries past him, holding the box close. He can't help but feel like he's intruding, poking at Percival's bubble. 

“Oh, so you -- you just _forgot_ , uh. Of course.” The irritation in Percival's voice sets Credence on edge. He's familiar with it, trained on it, can recognize the first kicks of anger. Perhaps this is a bad time to put his plan into action. 

“You know what, I don't wanna hear more from you for the next few days. Yeah, fuck off too. Say hi to Malcolm. Bye.” 

Credence pretends not to have heard a peep, abiding the laws of common courtesy. Not that Percival would care. Walking on eggshells - that resemble expensive parquet - he reaches the kitchen countertop. 

The whole place looks like it jumped out of an IKEA magazine. Everything seems to shine under the bright neon lights. Credence carefully sits the box down, worrying not to touch. It's everything too rich for his dirty, sweaty self. 

“So,” Percival says. Credence turns, fully ready to have this conversation. Percival shuffles his feet, expression unreadable, “Fifteen, right?” 

“Yeah,” Credence's eyes inevitably stumble on Percival's thin lips, how they purse and stretch and move. “And fifty cents.” 

Percival is rummaging through his wallet, staring down into it. It's the perfect chance. 

“Listen,” Credence bursts out, before his tongue goes up in knots, “I'm sorry for the Halloween thing. I'm sorry if I made you feel, like, like you had to do it or you owe me something, or, whatever. But like, you don't have to stop coming to the shop -- if you don't wanna see me we can just, like. I'll change my shift, so.” 

Percival stops to glare at him, only it's not really a mad glare; he's almost smiling. “Why would have I called, if I didn't wanna see you?” He says, sliding the wallet next to the box. 

“Oh,” Credence gasps. The air has been knocked out of his lungs, from yelling his explanation. “ _Oh_.” 

“It's true I was a little scared,” Percival continues, scratching at the back of his neck. “I thought I might've spooked ya. So, I told myself I'd lay off for a while.” He has this apologetic look, eyebrows canting up, it turns Credence's knees to jelly. 

“So, you're not angry at me?” Credence asks, stepping forward. Percival is already shaking his head no, hands coming up to brace themselves against Credence's shoulders. Just like that night. 

“No, sweetheart, of course not. Why would I? You didn't do anything,” he says, swaying Credence back and forth and back and forth, and against his chest. Credence gulps down his heart, which has crawled and settled into throat. 

“But I, I acted clingy and -- stuff.” 

Percival huffs. “I like clingy. And stuff,” he says, then quieter: “Do you want me to kiss you again?” 

“Yes, please,” Credence sighs, angling his chin just so. Percival closes the distance, pressing his lips against Credence's. It's light at first, barely there, but it grows in intensity. A brush of Percival's thumb to Credence's jaw, and it goes lax. 

Credence gives an alarmed noise when Percival laps at his palate, thinks, here, he wants to climb inside me. Credence thinks, after a moment, I'll build you a home inside of me, come here, here, here.

Percival wraps his arms around Credence's waist, hands rubbing and soothing his back. They separate to breathe, and Percival places a wet kiss to Credence's cheek, then to his chin. 

“Here,” he says. “Happier now?” 

Credence looks down. He is happier. But he's also so, so greedy. Percival toots, “Hey, what's wrong? You okay, baby?” Credence presses his face to Percival’s neck, nuzzles the collar of his shirt. He can feel himself getting hard. 

“I wanna do more.” Credence says, muffled. It's the most he can manage, and the best he’ll ever be at communicating his needs. “More than kisses.” 

“Ah. More than kisses. Right.” Credence takes a step back, studies Percival's expression like an archeologist might categorize an especially beautiful piece of pottery. Percival is still smiling. 

“And what do you know, about, _more than kisses_?” Percival says. Credence rubs his face, blood flooding to his cheeks. And dick. He is fully hard now, no playing around it. 

“Plenty,” he murmurs. “In theory, at least.” 

Apparently, that's sufficient. 

 

Percival's bedroom is much more elegant than what Credence imagined a pornstar’s bedroom to be like. The bed is large, there's two night stands and a large lamp hanging from the ceiling. 

Credence doesn't know wether to sit, but then Percival does. He pats the empty space next to his thigh, and Credence plops down on it. 

“Are you sure?” Percival asks, tone growing a little lower. Credence nods, unable to get his own voice to cooperate. He hopes Percival won't ask him any more questions. 

They start making out again. Percival lays Credence flat down, gets on top of him. The weight is suffocating, in the best of ways. Credence wraps one loose arm around Percival's back. 

Kissing, Credence discovers, involves a lot of spit. He'd expected it be kind of gross, but the damp of Percival's tongue brushing his makes him harder. He whines, rutting his hips. 

Percival laughs, “Patience.” He pushes Credence, so that he's pressed against the headboard. Percival sits between Credence's legs, massaging his knees. “Credence, have you done anything before?” 

“No. Well,” Credence tugs on his sleeve, “I -- I masturbate a lot.” 

Again, Percival chuckles. “That's normal,” he says, patting Credence. Credence sucks on his lower lip, fidgets with the hem of his shirt. They're still wearing clothes. 

“I even tried, uh. Touching myself, other places.” He says, scrubbing at his reddening face. Christ. “Like, putting a finger, uh. Inside.” 

Credence hears Percival take a deep breath. “And did you like it?”

“I don't know. Not really, no. It was weird. Maybe I did it wrong.” Credence glances up, from behind his fringe. 

Percival licks his lips. He is quiet for a second, “Would you like me to try it?” He says. Credence has the impression his eyes have gone from brown to black, pupils widening, like those of a lion about to pounce. 

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” 

Percival takes off both their clothes. Credence all but devours the sight of him undressing, abs twisting, and let's him manhandle his jeans off of him. He keeps the pants, but leaves Credence naked as a worm. Once he's down to his underwear, Percival asks again if he's alright. “I wanna,” Credence says. 

His cock springs up, jotting against his belly. “Hello there,” Percival says, giving it a tug. Credence yelps, whole body shivering. Percival keeps a slow, even rhythm, thumb teasing the slit. 

“Wait -- _ahh_ \-- I won't. _Mm_.” Percival shushes him, tells him not to worry. Credence curls his toes into the sheets. Percival's warm, and keeps his grip just tight enough. Credence is gonna collapse. 

He opens a drawer of the nightstand, and takes out a tall bottle of lube. Credence must be looking at it as warily as he feels about it. 

“It's okay, baby. We can stop anytime,” Percival echoes, upping the tempo of his fist. “Anytime.” 

He switches hands, briefly neglecting Credence’s dick to wet his fingers with lube. Credence moans, feeling about to burst. He's tempted to beg Percival to just finish him, but there's a part of him that is determined not to disappoint. He wants to do this. Wants to like it, for Percival. 

“Okay,” Percival says, spreading Credence's legs a little further apart. “Might be a little cold, so.” Credence breaches himself, whimpering when the first finger breaches his hole. The lube helps it slide in much easier than saliva did. The stretch feels good, but there's still no burning passion. 

“Wait for it,” Percival says, pumping his finger in and out. He pushes in a second, and now Credence is a little more reluctant. Percival is still stroking him, which helps Credence ignoring the pressure. 

Something happens - Percival crooks his knuckles, or Credence shifts, the angle changes: a jolt of electricity pulsates through him. Credence throws his head back, mouth falling open.

“That's right,” Percival grins, “Like that, don't you.” 

Credence stares at him, big puppy eyes, “Can you do that again?” He's shameless, pleasure mounting up. This is _it_. "Can you make me come?” 

Percival doesn't talk: he taps the spot again. Credence pushes down onto his fingers, and up into his hand. It feels amazing, touched on all sides, unable to leave. Credence imagines Percival's torturing him; some sick, porno flick scenario in which he's prisoner in this bedroom. 

“Come on,” Percival says, and he's panting, too, “Good baby, good boy.” 

When he comes, Credence almost kicks Percival's off the bed. The intensity of his orgasm wrecks through him like an earthquake. It shakes his bones, rattles his brain. _Fuck you, brain_ , Tina says inside his head. 

_Fuck you, brain_ Credence thinks, watching Percival adjust his own erection. _You don't know shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Thanks for reading this far. If you liked the chapter, please let me know with a comment! 
> 
> I would leave here a link to my tumblr, but, uh. Yeah.


	5. i love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This chapter features sexual intercourse between a 19 year old and someone who's over forty. Everything is consensual. However, if that freaks you out, better skip this read. 
> 
> So I am full of shame. It's been close to five months since I've last updated this fic. I'm really sorry for everyone who has been reading and commenting, but life got in the way and for a while I just couldn't write. 
> 
> This chapter exasperated me until the end. A big thank you to Dani for betaing it and to Bee for listening to my ramblings. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Looking into the mirror is always a bargain. 

The bathroom at Ma’s house had none. Just bare walls and wet spots on the ceiling, and cracks so large a pigeon could’ve made a nest of them. But back then Credence didn't have time to worry about his appearance.

Credence steps out of the bath, skin tingling and mouth full of vapor; there's a lightedness to his head threatening to trip him over. Tina says he'd better keep the window open, but Credence likes feeling all the warm air trapped inside the room, pressing in on his lungs. 

He wipes the condensation from the mirror: first his face, then a streak to his chest, his neck and collarbone. The reflection stops just short of Credence's belly button. Credence stares at every inch of himself, twisting his torso this way and that, stretching out both arms.

He looks and looks, until the warmth starts to wear off. He purses his mouth and raises his eyebrows, sucks his lower lip in, attempts a pose. Ew.

There's really nothing different to him. Nothing new. 

Credence wonders what could Percival possibly have seen in this body that was so special. So attractive. 

He'd felt guilty when Percival had stood up, hand sticky with Credence's come. He'd wanted to help, but his whole body was limp as a bundle of worms; Percival just grabbed a roll of toilet paper, and rubbed his palm clean. Credence couldn't help eyeing the erection straining inside his jeans. 

“Don't worry about that,” Percival had said, adjusting himself through the clothes. He'd groaned, “I'll take care of it on my own.” Credence mouth was watering, so much he'd been afraid to speak and flood the entire bedroom with saliva. 

“Okay,” he'd managed to say. And then, “Thanks.” 

Percival had laughed. “There it is again. You don't have to thank me every time, you know.” 

A knock on Percival's front door -- the bathroom door, and Queenie's voice on the other side. “Cree, you done in there? Tina wanted to shower.” 

Credence wraps himself in a towel, and shuffles over to the door. He opens it, sending a cloud of hot air tumbling out. Queenie steps aside, “Oh, honey! You'll roast yourself alive one of these days.” 

“Sorry. I wasted water,” he says, wincing at the tub he'd filled nearly to the brim. Queenie waves him away. 

“Oh, shush. That's not problem, now go dry that hair. Don't stand there, you'll catch a cold!” 

She hadn't asked why he'd taken so long for one delivery. Credence had told her anyways, some excuse on stopping to talk with Mr Graves, and wasn't he such a nice man, that Graves, always tipping and so polite.

It isn't completely untrue. They did talk. 

 

Credence had wobbled over to Percival's kitchen, legs unsteady - both from the orgasm and a deep fear of knocking something expensive into the ground. His shoes, he'd left near the bed, and his Captain America socks made no sound as he paddled on the parquet. 

“Please, sit,” Percival had said. He looked incredibly comfortable, which in turn made Credence a little more anxious. After the third encouragement, he slumped over one of the high chairs. Percival settled on the other side of the counter, with the box of pastries resting in between them. 

“So,” he flipped the lid open, and picked a chocolate cupcake. “Credence.” 

“Mm,” Credence made an affirmative noise of sort, looking intently at the cupcakes. His stomach grumbled. “May I have one?” He'd asked. Percival only slid the box closer to him, smiled. 

“I'm sorry, I thought these were for your son,” Credence muttered, biting into the lone caramel one. He desperately needed to fill the awkward silence that dangled over their heads. 

Percival swallowed the last bite, “Yeah, well. He's staying with his mother this week. She's been fucking up the schedule, but there's not much I can do about it.” Before Credence mentally kicked himself for intruding, Percival had already changed the subject. 

“Kid, shouldn't you be in school or something?” He'd said. “I realize this might not be the safest thing to say after, uh, that, but.” 

“I'm nineteen,” Credence gulped, not without some difficulty. His throat had gone dry. Percival turned and fetched him a glass of tap water, “And I dropped out years ago.” There was no judgment on Percival's face as he handed Credence the water. He made no comments, only nodded.

“I see. Where do you live then? I've only ever seen you hanging around the shop.” 

“That's cause I live with Queenie and her sister. Queenie is Jacob’s fiancée,” Percival was leaning against the counter, one hand raking through his hair. Credence downed the glass in one go, took some time to enjoy the sight. 

“You’re renting there, or something?” Percival said, reaching for another cupcake. 

“Or something,” Credence said. He was trying to skirt around the issue as much as possible, and hoped Percival would catch on. “They've kind of, took me in.” Percival was frowning. 

“How long have you been here?” Credence asked, gesturing around the house. 

“Oh, this used to be a friend’s place. He mostly used it for his job though, and I visited once and told him if he'd ever sell it I'd be the one to buy it. It just so happened that he needed money as I was looking for a home,” Percival snorted. “My wife sort of kicked me out.” 

Credence paled at the mention of this mysterious “job”. For the first time, he started to consider how Percival would take it, if he'd told him he'd first seen him in porn. And what if Credence told him about all the times he'd gotten off to his video. He was so focused on the matter, he completely ignored the mention about Percival's wife. 

“Ah, shit, I talk too much. I've wasted your time, haven't I?” Percival looked at the kitchen clock. Credence glanced at it once, then doubled over, and almost fell off the chair in an attempt to get off it. 

An hour had gone by. Queenie and Jacob were going to be worried to death. 

“Sorry!” Credence yelled, clumsily tying his shoes. Percival was chuckling at Credence's ridiculous display, and it made Credence's face shine a bright red. “I've gotta go. Uh. Er, I --” 

Credence stood in the hall, car keys in hand. Percival got close enough to brush a knuckle against Credence's cheek, pinched his skin between thumb and index.  
“God, you're so cute.” 

Credence sighed, pitifully rubbing his thighs together. “Can I come back?” He'd leaned into Percival's touch, eyes drooping close. 

“Of course,” Percival pulled him in for a hug, at the last moment reached to cup Credence's ass. “I'll be waiting for ya, next Tuesday. M’kay?” Pressed a small kiss to Credence's forehead, before opening the front door. 

 

Credence shuts the door to his bedroom behind himself. He’s getting heavier between his legs, barely covered by the towel. He slithers under the covers, then unties it .

He palms at himself, roughly. Wishes Percival could be here, pin him down and slide those thick fingers into him. Wishes he'd gotten just a glimpse of Percival’s cock, up close, so he could imagine it pumping inside his mouth all the better. 

He comes there and then, hissing. A few drops of come catch on the blanket, Credence rubs them off before they stick to the fabric. There's that lightheadedness again: he peeks his head out from under the covers, but it stays. 

Credence’s limbs are scrambled, he's naked and shivering, gasping like a fish thrown in an ice box. 

By the time Queenie yells to the house that dinner is ready, Credence has managed the will to dress up. As he wobbles out the bedroom, he crosses paths with an equally run down looking Tina. 

“Oi,” she says, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. “Is this the first time I've seen you all day?” 

Credence shrugs. He's not sure he's seen himself in forever, neither. 

 

The box of cupcakes weighs like a bunch of bricks. The winds has picked up, it laps at the sweat drenched back of Credence's neck. It's Tuesday, and it's been a week since he's been in this same situation; he hasn't seen or heard from Percival in a week, other than taking his order via phone call.

As he walks up to the door, Credence plays out in his head all the scenarios he's been imagining. What's the worst thing that could happen? Percival rejects him, takes the cupcakes without paying, and beats his scrawny ass to booth. 

But honestly, at this point, Credence wouldn't mind getting the living hell punched out of him - even less so if it was Percival doing the punching. 

The door slings open soon as Credence steps on the welcome mat: Percival smiles up at him, throws a look behind his back. “Come in, quick,” he says, without sparing a look for the box. 

He all but drags Credence inside, before shutting the door again. That's a perfect kidnapping scenario, Credence thinks, squinting at the serie of locks on Percival's door. 

“I've missed you,” Percival says, planting a kiss to Credence's cheekbone. Then another, longer one, to the corner of his mouth. “You can give that to me,” Percival takes the box from Credence's hands, throws it on the counter. It lands on its side. 

Credence startles. “The sweets,” he frowns. Percival doesn't seem the least bit bothered, cupping Credence's shoulders. 

“Uh? Oh, right. I'm sure they're fine, you can have some of them later.” 

“But, your son?” Percival cocks an eyebrow at him, and Credence's throat closes up. His face is in flames. “Right. No visits today?” 

“No visits today,” Percival echoes, inching closer. Credence tips his head back, lips opening of their own accord. Percival kisses him, and he tastes clean, like mint. Credence sighs; he'd forgotten to take any mints, and just hopes the outcome of his quick lunch isn't too insufferable. 

Apparently not at all, since Percival keeps lapping at his mouth for what feels like a century. “Kid, don't take offense, but, you're a terrible kisser.”

Credence rubs his knuckles against the seams of his lips, “Oh, oh man. Sorry, I, uh --” 

“That's alright, babe, we got time. I can teach you,” Percival says, gently but firmly walking Credence into the bedroom’s directions. Credence is already hard before stepping over the threshold. 

“So,” Percivals starts, “We don't have to do anything sexual, if you don't want. But I would like to touch you again.” Credence covers his eyes with both hands and does his best to convince the ground to swallow him. 

“Hey, none of that. You gotta talk with me,” Percival pries his fists away, holding them by Credence's waist. Credence gives a tentative little tug, but Percival's grip is strong. “Nu uh. You're not hiding anywhere.” 

Credence shuffles his feet, blood rushing to his cock. “Please let me go,” he says, staring at his feet. “It's embarrassing.” 

Percival smacks another kiss to the crook of Credence's neck. “Are you embarrassed? Because you've gotten so hard already?” Credence closes his eyes, breaths out. “Is your little dick getting wet? Won't you show me?” 

Credence shakes his head. A billion of white spots dance in front of his vision. Choke me out, he thinks. Choke me the fuck out. 

“Aw,” Percival tooths. “Well, that means I'll have to make you show me.” 

Percival all but hauls him on the bed. Credence lands squarely in the middle, limbs splayed all around, like a bug that just got smashed to bits. Percival doesn't move to restrain him, and Credence can tell by his expression he isn't actually mad. It's a game. 

“Take off your clothes,” he says, nodding at Credence. It's a game, Credence thinks, forcing his heartbeat to slow. He scoots farther away. Let's play. 

“Nuh uh,” Credence says, drawing his knees to his chest. Percival’s lips quirk up, and he glares for a moment, hands on his waist. He looks amused, if a bit breathless. 

“Credence, come here. Now,” Percival points at the edge of the mattress, crooks his index a few times. Credence has to bite his tongue to keep from giggling. He shakes his head. 

“No?” Percival’s eyebrows shoot up in an exaggerated expression of offense. He tugs at his shirt, takes it off. “That's very bad. Very bad, Credence.”

The bare chest, the prolonged eye contact. It's enough to make him capitulate - Credence just isn't that good a player . “Sorry,” he yelps, pulling at his striped shirt. It falls somewhere behind him. “I’ll be good.” 

“Too late for that,” Percival climbs onto the bed, grabs Credence's ankle. He drags Credence under him, leaves a play bite on his collarbone. “Not so cocky anymore, ah?” He says, as Credence goes back to seek refuge behind his hands. 

Percival manhandles Credence so that he's lying on his front, cheek squashed into the duvet. There's a pause, and Percival bends near Credence's ear. “Okay?” He asks, stroking Credence's back. There's a quiet tenderness to it that makes something ache in Credence's guts. 

“Yes,” he whispers back. Percival presses a small kiss to his temple, before instructing him to move, until Credence is lying half on the bed and half on the floor, with his ass in the air.

Percival takes his time removing Credence's track pants and his underwear, pinching and kneading the flesh of his thighs. Credence has little jerks, occasionally, but keeps still for the most part. 

“Alright, okay. This is gonna feel real good, you ready?” Percival is talking directly against his ass cheek, and Credence has the vaguest of ideas of what Percival wants to do. 

“Yeah,” he says, humping the mattress. His dick is still trapped by the clothes, but Percival hasn't let him any space to wiggle out of them fully. 

The first lick makes Credence jump. The one thing stopping him from clinging to the ceiling is Percival’s weight on him. “Oh -- oh shit.” Percival laughs, presses the flat of his tongue against Credence. 

He keeps lapping at his hole like a dog, while Credence tries to get the pants off of himself. “Ahh -- wait,” Crednce climbs onto his elbows, looks back at Percival. 

He stops. “I'm not gonna last, like this. And I don't want you to -- not like last time. Uhh, mm.” He can feel himself getting warmer. He's sweating. He's blushing, probably - scratch that, definitely, going by Percival’s face. 

“I wanna do something for you,” Credence ruts against his palm, which he'd manage to sneak past the corner of the mattress. He pushes out of his jeans, and scuttles forward, out of Percival's grip. 

Turning to look, now with only his boxers on. Credence sits with his ankles crossed, front teeth worrying at his lower lip. 

Percival's hums, “That's real nice of you, baby,” he says. He's resting his chin on a fist, holding Credence's pants in the other. “But I don't think you're ready for that.” He goes back to sitting on the bed, mirroring Credence's pose. 

“No, I didn't mean that -- “ Credence stammers. This is gonna be hilarious for Percival. “Do you think I could. Like. Suck you off, or something?”

“Or something?” Percival snickers. Credence hears him repeat that to himself, suck you off or something. “Man, you're fun.” 

“So?” Credence shifts, until he's on his knees. Percival watches him with eyes half lidded, a lazy smile hanging from his lips. Credence blinks down at Percival's crotch. He's still half dressed, which isn't fair. It's also hot as fuck, for some stupid reason. 

Slowly, Credence moves forward. Sliding easily on the smooth covers. Percival doesn't talk, spreads his legs a little farther. He gives a flick with his wrist, there's that finger again. What are you gonna do? It's the question hanging in the air around them. Credence starts undoing his belt. 

He flinches soon as he brushes the metal of the buckle, bile threatening to rise. The leather is dark, and rough. He makes a quick job of it, then throws it as far away from them as possible. Percival does stare after it, but keeps silent. 

Then it's the zip. Percival takes it into his hands to pull down the waistband, so that it rests at his mid thighs. Through the thin white cotton, Credence can see everything. He looks up, hands hovering close but not touching.

Percival grabs at his wrist, coaxes him on. Credence's finger slip past the fabric; Percival' skin is warm, covered in tufts of dark, coarse hair. It makes Credence giggle, a small sound, and almost move to get off. 

“What's so funny?” Percival asks, voice low. One of his hands presses against the back of Credence's neck, heavy. Anchoring. Credence gulps down the last elated hiccup. 

Credence wraps his palm around him. He feels, more than he hears Percival exhale. He's even warmer here, pulsing - Credence strokes one thick vein with his thumb, and Percival groans. “Look at it,” Percival says, tightening the grip on Credence's neck. “Look what you've done to me.”

So Credence looks. Percival's cock is almost worryingly red, pointing right up at Credence, like a big, fleshy arrow. He gives a tentative stroke, and realizes his palm is too dry. 

“Lick your hand,” Percival hisses. Credence lets go of him, holds his open hand to his mouth. He manages to coat it with spit. “Right, right, like that. Now, back you go.” Percival is stroking his hair now, in a gesture that feels... paternal. Jesus, he is sick. 

Credence takes the cock back into his - now appropriately wet - hand, and gives another tug. This time, Percival’s expression isn't pained: he closes his eyes, hums. His head falls back a bit. 

“Good boy,” he says. 

After a moment, Credence starts jerking faster, thinking of his own private sessions. Percival stops him, pulls at his nape. “Not like that. What's the hurry. Slow, take it easy.” 

“So --orry,” Credence huffs. He goes back to the pace he had before, at the start. 

“It's okay,” Percival speaks with a hushed tone, still smiling, “You're doing great. Just don't get in your head, stay with me,” he keeps clenching and unclenching at Credence's neck, forcing him to relax his shoulders. 

It takes a couple minutes, but Credence eventually gets the hang of it. Percival's breathing increases, gets heavier, but he resists. Credence is secretly impressed. He would have busted after twenty seconds. 

“Now, why don't you try giving it a kiss.” 

He freezes. “You, you want me to take it in?” Credence swallows, feeling sweat gathering on his upper lip. Percival shakes his head, tching. Makes Credence think of how you call over a puppy. 

“No. Later. Just, bend down, give it a kiss. Wet your lips first.” 

Credence carefully swipes his tongue over his chapped lips, sucking on his bottom lip. He lowers his head, helped along by Percival's hand. His lips impact soft on the head, pursing in a small kiss. His tongue peeks out and gives a swift lick to the slit. Percival chuckles. “I didn't tell you to do that,” he says.

Credence sniffles, “No. That was me,” he huffs, before leaning back in. He thinks of how Percival lapped at him before, and mirrors the gesture, holding his cock still while he swirls his tongue all over the tip. He moans, tasting the salt of skin mixed with precome. 

“Ah, shit. That's good, Credence, that's really good.” Percival’s hand rises from neck to Credence's head, fingers carding through his hair. “Think you could hold it in your mouth? Just the tip.” 

Credence is already wrapping his lips around it. A thrill goes through him when he realizes what he's actually doing, suckling on what of Percival's dick he can manage, hand still working the shaft. 

“Fuck, yeah. Like that. Little more, c’mon,” Percival pushes on Credence's head. Credence moans, grips at Percival's torso, but there's not much space to move to. Its either pushing Percival off or taking on. Pushing Percival away would ruin the moment. So Credence widens his jaw, accommodates another few inches into his mouth. 

He moans again, tongue stroking at the underside. The smell of him is inescapable, musky and hot and plugging up Credence's nostrils until his lungs are full of it. His jaw is beginning to tingle, so he whimpers, defeatedly. 

That's when Percival starts moving his hands again. Pulling and pushing on his hair, up and down, dragging Credence's head with it. His cock slides in and out, in and out again, and again, until there's a rhythm to it. “There, good boy. Take care of it,” Percival eventually lets go, but Credence doesn't stop. He keeps following the rhythm Percival's hand had set. 

Up, down, up, down. In, out, in, out. Percival's breathing is getting louder. Credence feels his cock growing heavier inside him. 

“Touch yourself, baby.” Credence's free hand immediately shoots to his own, neglected dick. When he starts, he yaps so loud Percival almost falls out of his mouth. 

He'd been so pent up, and hadn't even noticed it. Credence sighs, fucking his fist while Percival fucks his mouth. Credence thinks of the taste of Percival's come down his throat, messing up his mouth and mixing with the spit. He comes right after. 

“Credence,” Percival strokes his shoulder, “Baby, I'm gonna. You might wanna move". Credence doesn't back off, turns his eyes up. Percival's hair has fallen out of place, he's drenched. From this angle it's clear he needs a shave. Still, he's the most handsome man Credence's ever seen -- and he's making him come. 

“You wanna take it?” Credence gives a minute nod, blinks at him. Percival grins, completely disheveled, more than a little wild looking. “Fine then. ‘S fine by me.” 

Percival's whole body goes tense and taut, and his dick makes a small bob, before spurting onto Credence's tongue. He tries and catch all of it, but as it slips out, a drop lands on his cheek. 

Credence swallows. It tastes -- salty, almost pungent. Percival thumbs at his cheek, swiping the stray away and pushing it into Credence' still blissfully lax mouth. 

“Good boy, Credence. You've been such a good boy,” Percival says. He lunges forward, and kisses Credence lips, on his chin, and on the tip of his nose. Credence laughs. 

“What's that?” Percival asks, against his temple. 

“My breath smells terrible,” Credence covers his mouth to save Percival the stink. Percival barks a laugh of his own.

“Of course it does, dicks don't smell like roses you know!” He ruffles Credence's hair, then moves to get off the bed. “You stay here, gotta go to the bathroom. I'll get you some water, also.”

Credence listens to Percival moving around the bathroom. Piss hitting expansive ceramic. The creak of a cabinet opening, and the sink spitting out a jet of water.  
After, he hears him walk into the kitchen. He reemerges a few minutes later, holding a glass. 

“How do you feel? Sore?” Credence nods, taps at his jaw. 

“It's fine,” he says. Takes the glass in his hand, drinks up while Percival watches. “It doesn't hurt, it's just an ache,” he smiles, but Percival has this rueful expression on that won't go.

“You sure?” 

Credence places the glass on the nightstand, maybe a bit too strong, “It's not like anything bad happened. I wanted it,” he admits, tucking his chin against his chest. “Plus, I'm not a baby. I can take responsibility for my decisions.”

Percival looks at him, square in the face. Laughs. “You're nineteen. You are a baby. And I'm worried because I don't want to hurt you,” he provides, biting at the seam of his lips. 

“How old are you?” Credence skirts around that last bit of information, because if he doesn't his heart will literally explode. Also, he should make small conversation. He can't admit that he knows Percival’s age from reading his Wikipedia page. 

“I'm forty one,” Percival says. He closes his eyes, and lies down on the opposite side of the bed. Credence mimics him after a moment, one hand under his cheek and his legs gathered up. 

“That's not too old,” Credence says. 

Percival grins, but keeps his eyes closed. “Yeah? I was thinking of jumping off a bridge and set it off at forty two. I like even numbers.” 

Credence frowns, inches closer. “Don't say these things,” he murmurs, tugging at the fabric of a pillow. Percival slits his eyes open, face going back to his usual tranquility. 

“It's just a joke, sweetheart,” he says. Credence shakes his head. 

“Not a funny joke,” Credence glances at Percival. He's still smiling, though, one corner of his mouth jutting up and lifting his whole face with it. 

“Okay,” then, softer, “Come here?” 

He leaves it open, as a question, but Credence has already pressed into his body by the time he's done talking. He feels Percival's arm circling his back, hand resting on his side. Credence breathes in the smell of Percival's cologne, without realizing how fucking creepy that is. 

They stay like that for a while. Comfortable. Credence almost falls asleep, true to his habits, stuck against the warm of Percival like a clam to a rock. He can feel the waves crashing against him, with all the force of an ocean, so he clings tighter. 

Percival’s breath tickles the shell of Credence's ear, “How much time do we have?” 

Credence groans. Percival chuckles,“I know. I'm not happy about it either.” 

“Hey,” Percival taps Credence's lower back, dragging a knuckle across his spine. “Were you in a car accident?” Credence stares ahead, mind blank. 

Percival's index lingers on the ridge of a scar. The contact wakes an old itch, to scratch at it until his bloody flesh is exposed. “Saw them before. Must've hurt like a bitch, uh?” 

Credence gulps. There's an ache in his throat, and it's not the raspy tightness from their earlier activities. He'd been stupid not to think of it; of course Percival would see them, sooner than later. Especially with how inclined Credence was to getting naked in his company. 

Rationally, Credence knows this isn't a problem. He could just make up a story or, not tell him at all. Percival doesn't need to know. He already doesn't know plenty. 

“Don't look at them.” He struggles away from Percival, plants his back safely to the mattress. His whole back tingles, fingers flexing with the need to peel at it. “They're ugly, aren't they,” Credence tells the ceiling.

“Oh, no I --” 

“They're so ugly,” Credence wheezes. His breath is short but he's not even close to feeling any kind of pleasure. Mom is glaring at him from the corner of the room - he can't see her, but she's there. She's always there. “Do you think I'm ugly?” 

“Credence, no. Hey, listen,” Percival wraps his face in the palms of his hands. He's crying now. “Baby, it's alright. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up.” 

“Of course I don't think you're ugly. You're the prettiest I ever seen - and I've seen some people.” Credence snuggles closer into the hug, choking on a sob. He can't talk. He can't do anything but hope Percival's body will absorb him so he can be part of something instead of continuing to wander around aimlessly. 

“I don't wanna go home yet,” Credence says, muffled against Percival's chest. 

Percival sighs. He caresses Credence's back, slow, firm. “Okay. We can stay here for a little longer. Just, don't cry, ok? I'm here. Shh.” 

Credence looks. There, in the corner, there's only one of Percival's lamps. 

Mom’s gone. For good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! If you managed to get through this, thank you! Why not letting me know what you think of the chapter, maybe by, oh I don't know -- leaving a comment?

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever finish this! Who fuckin knows. Thanks for reading, consider commenting to let me know how gross this is.


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